


Blinking In Hatred

by B_Uthoughtwrong



Series: The Things I Hate About You [14]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, F/M, Reader-Insert, slight fluff if you quint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24988822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Uthoughtwrong/pseuds/B_Uthoughtwrong
Summary: A drabble-y take on the fourteenth line, but actually ninth hated thing, of the poem in the film 10 Things I Hate About You."and the fact you didn't call."~Geralt's pride prevents him from calling to you when he needs it, even when he wants to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: The Things I Hate About You [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/717732
Kudos: 28





	Blinking In Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so invested in Geralt that it hurts
> 
> also i prolly got typos up in here so sorry

_and [I hate] the fact you didn't call_

* * *

There was something about the rain that I loved so much. Perhaps it was merely the childish experience I had with it, that whenever it rained it meant I was off the hook from doing vigorous chores or work needed to be done outdoors, and made for a perfectly chilly day meant for warm blankets and tea.

All my life, everyone's reaction to rain was normally mixed, with people longer for rain in drought and rebuking it when it begins to flood and cause inconvenience. 

Alas, I have never once shunned rain, no matter its consequences to others or to me, as personally, since I was younger, I've never had a bad experience with rain. Even though my mother complained about the mud starting to seep into our house, all I did was play in the fields while showering in the rain.

And yet all it took to destroy my love for the rain is one incident, one man, or more accurately, one Witcher.

It had been not so long since I paid a Geralt of Rivia to hid of a hideous creature destroying my farmlands. Wholeheartedly impressed by how swiftly he ended the problem we've had for months, I offered him amity, and help if in the future he would ever need it. Although he grunted and said he only took coin, not too long after, when he was badly injured, he came to my home seeking refuge.

It was then under the dim lights of my candles, in the night-darkened room of my house, that I felt a great yearning to heal his cuts on a much deeper level, for it was heartbreaking to know that he no longer flinched at the prick of needles or the sight of blood, where I was greatly disturbed. I remember vividly our conversation.

"Do not pity me, woman" he spoke with no offence but only for himself, I think. I press on the wound rub below his rib cage and shake my head, "I'm only thinking you should've gone to a real doctor, and not to me who only knows how to do this because I've had stupid brothers who get themselves hurt and not wanted to get caught by our mother."

"Then you're just as good as any doctor," he whispers, to distract himself from the pain.

I finish binding his wounds when I raise my brows at him and offer, "you're worth tending to, you know that, right?"

Geralt shifts from the table he was lightly sat on and looks down at me, feigning ignorance, as if he doesn't understand why I said it. I cross my arms and shrug, "you think you'll be turned away because you're a witcher and they're either disgusted, or afraid of you."

He shakes his head, "However you come up with your ideas beats me."

"But I'm right, aren't I? I've known you long enough to know you dismiss yourself when someone is gaining on you."

Geralt grips my shoulder and leans in, huffing with great anger, "you don't know me."

I am stunned momentarily, but I don't allow it to faze me for I am certain he wouldn't hurt me, "Perhaps not entirely, but I think I do."

That was the start of it. From then on, he would always come in with the excuse of he was 'passing and didn't want to pay for a night's sleep' or that he was 'checking if my workers killed me yet for being annoying, in which case I would get to own your house'. Flimsy excuses, truly.

But the excuses went both ways on our part, as I would also pretend I was 'constantly cleaning the house to rid of witcher's filth' whenever he was around. Then one thing lead to another, I told him my bed was cold and he did not hesitate to keep me warm after that.

And so forgive me for not taking that the way it is, the way any other normal person would take our arrangement, that at the very least we had a relationship and at most a special one. So you would understand my vexation and fury upon _finding_ him, _frantically_ finding him in a forest after five days of awaiting his arrival.

I relent, he never spoke directly that he would visit me on these days, but he always did, and so his absence alarmed me. Through tracing his steps then to the place he said he was to travel to, I find him in a damned forest, about to die.

Of course, I brought him home as quickly as I could successfully, though my frame was not nearly as big as his. And indeed it was storming when I found him, but I continued on through the thick drops of falling water and mud beneath my feet. After hiring a doctor to tend to him and nights on end, waiting for him to wake, he finally blinked back into consciousness and I was now allowed to unleash my wrath unto him.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" I blared to his face as he groaned and whined at its intensity. "How could you face to monsters at once and think of not asking for help?"

His face grows cross, "and who would help me, you and your mouth?"

"Better, I think, than going off on a mad mission for some lunatic king, which I heard, wasn't even going to pay you!" I demand. With his ears ringing, Geralt begins to shift and sit up on the bed he was on. I do not cease, "What was your point? What- where you going to act all of a sudden like some hero? The king's savior?"

He snatches my face in his large hand and presses my cheeks enough to get his point across, "What exactly it is I _do_ and do _not_ want to do does not concern you, you spoilt girl." He releases me then stands to walk away.

It was at this point scornful tears began forming in my eyes. Naturally, I tread after him and barked curses at him, but he silenced me with a tough glare, "you think just because I slept with you, it gives you the right to my life? You are not my wife, nor will you ever be!"

That made me blister up in anger.

I lunged at him and slammed my fists to his flesh, "you pig! You daft, spoilsport! You relentless liar! How swiftly you dismiss us!"

He took in all my punches, and didn't even bother blocking or moving away. It made me fume even more because I was probably hitting his injured areas and he didn't even care. I then took one look at him and shoved him away. He barely recoiled at my action, but nonetheless I gave it another go, "I hate you!"

I shoved him again and declared, "I hate your big head and your need to nurture your ego above all else. I hate your inability to ask for help and your lack of self-compassion. I hate that you didn't even think of calling for me, not for help, but to tell me you're still alive." I slammed at his chest, "I hate that I waited and worried for you, only to have you spit at me."

Geralt begins to weaken at the words coming into his ears, but he does not let it show, not that it could be seen to begin with.

I then push him away, "get out! Get OUT OF MY SIGHT. I don't want to see you ever again."

And so I didn't. As I pushed him out of my home, still as the rain persevered to add to the miserable mood I was in, he gave me nothing but silence and a broken heart. I did not look at him, and so I did not get a chance to see the flash of regret and sorrow on his face.

Neither then did Geralt ever get to explain himself, his side of suddenly acting so selflessly. Twas not to be seen as a hero, but to prove himself to someone. But it didn't matter, things were better this way. He did not deserve the temperate love he was being offered.


End file.
